


Hey, Cupcake

by kalena



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Cupcakes, Fluff, Frosting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalena/pseuds/kalena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grace needs cupcakes.  Danny needs Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey, Cupcake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenklu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenklu/gifts).



> Beta by JiM

It’s still 95 degrees outside, and Danny wilts before they even reach the parking lot. It’s been a tough day of leads that dead-ended on the Perry murder. In between, he got the wrong coffee – why do people want that caramel crap, anyway? This he gets in the land of Good Coffee? – and no time to go back. He bitches until Steve trades coffee with him. When he went out to get lunch, tackling a purse-snatcher ripped his favorite pair of khakis. At least that had satisfaction involved. Now it’s the end of the day, and there’s another project waiting.

Danny undoes his tie and lets it hang. He doesn’t miss Steve’s eyes following his fingers, and he opens a couple buttons just for good measure. “I don’t suppose you know how to cook.”

“You want to come over and grill?” Steve is gratifyingly eager. He’s had a frustrating day, too. “We can kick back. I think there's a Stanley Cup game on tonight.”

Steve doesn't know a damned thing about hockey. Danny's surprised he even came up with the phrase "Stanley Cup," but the man homed in on that just for Danny. And that’s the thing. Steve likes him. Hell, some days, Steve is all over him. But Danny’s not really sure whether it’s some weird testosterone leftover from the SEALs, where men were men and women were nowhere, or whether Steve could maybe, possibly be . . . gay. Gay for Danny, that’s the important part. Given Steve’s life as Danny knows it, he could just be lonely.

“I have to make cupcakes for Grace to take to school. Some celebration. Lei Day, or something.”

“That was in March. Cupcakes? You have to make cupcakes? Aww, that’s so sweet.” Steve’s laughing at him, but there’s something wistful in it.

“Yes, cupcakes. That’s the big thing now. Oh, Christ!” He just sat down, unthinking, on the leather seat that’s been roasting in the sun all afternoon. He grabs the emergency towel out of the back seat, shoves it under his ass. “I might never father another child. You’ll have to scrape me out of here by the time it cools down. I need the A/C looked at. Yeah,” he says as Steve turns the engine over and squeals out, “driving this car is way too much fun for you.”

Steve snorts and hauls ass into traffic like it’s Grand Am at Daytona Beach. “Why don’t you go buy cupcakes? There are bakeries here, you know.”

“Because they tease the kids that bring in bakery stuff.” That could actually be true, from what he knows about kids and teasing, but mainly he wants to drag Steve into doing something stupid. Steve’s dates – and Danny’s pretty sure they were dates, whether Steve knew it or not – usually ended with a dead body. This one is just revenge.

“That sucks.”

Steve’s angry at imaginary kids picking on his little girl. The man’s so in love with Gracie that Danny wonders, sometimes, if he could lure Steve in with the possibility of shared custody. “That is correct. So after I drop you off,” he looks pointedly at Steve’s hands on the wheel, and they’re almost enough to make him lose track, “I need to go buy a metric ton of baking supplies. I got nothin’ at my apartment. When I set up my kitchen, it was mostly for sandwiches.” He waits. It’s not long.

“Why don’t we just bake cupcakes at my house? The kitchen’s bigger, and there’s all kinds of equipment already there.” He makes big eyes at Danny when he should be watching the road. “We can stop at Safeway and buy sugar and cake flour.”

If Danny wasn’t melted before, he is now. “Uh. Cake flour?”

“Yeah, that’s what you need. Maybe some flavoring, stuff to make frosting, you know.”

Danny opens and closes his mouth, then opens it again. “I did not know. I did not know I’ve been working with freaking Martha Stewart all this time.” The truth comes out. “You’re prettier in real life, and much more dangerous.”

“I worked at a restaurant when I was a kid. I ended up as the pastry chef’s assistant.”

“Oh, the humanity, can you goddamn well do everything? Seriously, is there anything you aren’t already good at?” Fucked again, and not the way he wanted.

“It was a long time ago, and I don’t remember much. Do you have a recipe?”

“Do I look like I have a friggin’ recipe? I am not Martha Stewart.” He sulks all the way to the grocery store, where they buy a hundred bakery cupcakes worth of flour, food coloring, sprinkles, foil cups, special sugar, and cupcake pans. Steve doesn’t think he has those. They also buy shredded coconut, over Danny’s strenuous objections.

“It’ll be pretty,” says Steve stubbornly, and grabs it out of Danny’s hand, throws it in the cart. Hearing those words come out of Steve’s mouth is probably worth the spending spree.

On the kitchen table, everything is lined up with military precision. “Were you always like this? You must have kicked ass at G.I. Joes when you were a kid.”

His brows go down, but he looks more sad than irritated. “Danny, I was a perfectly normal kid.”

It smacks Danny between the eyes. Steve, his wide grin missing teeth, playing catch. Steve, Grace’s age, big-eyed and laughing, jumping into the water. A skinny ten year old holding hands with his little sister; sitting at one of those child-size desks in school. Before Steve became this man, he was that kid. For once, Danny’s glad Steve never talks about what happened in between. Right now, he doesn’t think he could bear to hear it. They eat deli sandwiches and a couple of apples while the tins are in the oven.

The cupcakes turn out good, better than Danny expected, even given the Cake Boss. He has a couple for dessert.

“I forgot something.”

“What? Surely we have everything we could possibly need.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have maraschino cherries for on top? With the stems. That’d be cool. I can go to the store right now.” Far be it from him to curb Steve’s enthusiasm; he made Danny some damned nice cupcakes. “You can handle the frosting, right?”

“Can I handle the frosting?” he scoffs. “Of course I can handle the frosting. It’s only got three ingredients, not one of which is C4.” The recipe was wrong. He ends up with three big bowls, all of them full to the top. One’s like soup, one’s too hard to spread, and one’s just right. Good thing there were entire bags of powdered sugar. Steve takes forever. By the time Danny has all the cupcakes frosted with the good icing and puts them in the refrigerator – cockroaches mob his apartment despite enough poison for elephants, he doesn’t leave any food out -- it’s got to be an hour later.

He’s walking toward the sink with the big bowl of soup, trying to decide what to do with it, when he hears the loud metallic click. It’s only the door, but he’s been so involved in the cupcakes that it startles him like the rack of a slide. His body jerks and his hands, unsure on the narrow sugary edge, slip. The heavy metal mixing bowl hits the tile floor with a bang so loud and resonant he’s momentarily shocked. Then Steve’s planted in his line of sight, the P226 in one hand, a jar in the other hand that's steadying it. He’s scanning the room.

Danny’s hands are in the air. “Hey, Lone Gunman, watch it! This is your house, not a firing range!” Now that he thinks about it, there’s not always that much difference.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve’s obviously relieved. “Sure. But what, what was that . . .” and then he sees the bowl of pink stuff on the floor.

Danny looks down, too. He’s splattered all over with pink soupy spots, like clothing chicken pox. When Steve thumbs the safety and turns to lay the weapon down, he’s trying to hide a smile. Then he gives up and starts laughing outright. That’s when Danny yells, “Food fight!” He picks up the bowl and whips a handful of glop at Steve. Steve looks around for ammunition, sees the other bowl on the table, grabs it and starts throwing pepto-bismol-colored chunks.

“You bastard! You’re cleaning the walls!”

For a split second, Danny sees the joyful ten-year-old. "You're a dead man!" They splatter the walls and windows and each other, laughing and screeching threats. “Not the hair! Not the hair!” When they run out of icing, and both finally quit laughing, he says, “I’ve got a stitch in my side now, you prick,” and Steve says, “It’s all your fault, you started it,” but it’s Steve who starts it. He steps up to Danny, his smile fading to something softer, and . . . _looks_ at him.

A big hand is on Danny’s shoulder, warm and firm and rubbing sugar into Danny’s shirt. He doesn’t care. “Icing,” Steve breathes. Danny can barely hear him. “There’s, it’s on your. Face.” He leans in closer, and Danny thinks he’s going to wipe it off when the rising hand tilts his chin, and Steve licks the corner of his mouth. That’s when his brain blanks out and his body takes over, twisting just that little bit so that their lips meet. It’s soft and gentle and unexpected, sweeter than anything Danny ate tonight. Steve edges Danny deeper into the kiss, holding him tight, and Danny’s whole body is glad they finally got here.

Steve pulls back with a little sigh, kisses more candy off his cheek. He’s far enough away to stare at Danny with dark, hopeful eyes, a thumb petting Danny's jaw. They’re still pasted together the rest of the way down, and it’s just as well his slacks were ruined already. Danny’s clutching Steve like he can’t let him get away, and Steve’s not trying. His mouth is slack and tingling. He can still feel Steve’s lips pressed against his. “Yeah?" It's hard to get air to make words with. "Did you get it off?” He wants to put a hand up and touch his lips, but his hands are already where they need to be. He feels kind of stupid, but Steve does that to him.

“No,” Steve says. “There’s some more.” He smiles that goofy smile and dips closer.

That’s the cherry on top.


End file.
